


Monster Week

by SecretShadowDust



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, Hatfilms, The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Death, Demons, F/F, F/M, FBI, Federal Agents, Halloween, Low key Magic, M/M, Magic, Multi, October, Prompt Week, Vampires, Violence, Werewolf, Werewolves, Witch - Freeform, Witches, prompts, reference to suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12256956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretShadowDust/pseuds/SecretShadowDust
Summary: Relatively short fics based on the Monster prompts!





	1. Ghosty Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first one, a couple days late. There's a chance I'll get them all done, just not right away it seems.  
> Read notes at the end for background!

The house is unnaturally still, floorboards creak where no one steps and the foundation seems to sway with any slight breeze. There are cracks in the tiled floors and water drips through the ceiling when it rains. It is ancient, it had been nearly a decade since anyone had lived in it, and an old ‘For Sale’ sign hangs from a wooden pole in the front yard. Even the neighborhood kids avoided walking by it, crossing to the other side of the road to pass through the street. 

The realtor who had been in charge of selling it came by every month or so, occasionally with a potential buyer, often by herself. Sometimes she did her paperwork on the wobbly dining room table, but she never stayed long.

Some say the house is haunted, stories about ghosts traveling like disease through generation after generation; a lonely woman who was murdered by an old lover; a family butchered by their postman; a young man who killed his wife and took his own life. Kids and adults alike claim sighting specters through the windows or movement behind closed curtains. One elderly woman said she saw a man with brown hair sitting in the overgrown garden, but when she looked back he was gone.

Nobody knows what to believe, depending on what circles you run in, it’s either a running joke or a horrendous tale is told at night by campfires. The only thing people can agree on, is that they never want to go inside.

 

Trott sits on the counter, his legs dangling off the end, toes not quite grazing the kitchen floor. He can hear the realtor in the other room, coughing as she opens drapes and wipes dust from windowsills. Sunlight shines through the kitchen window and he can see all the dust particles in the air; Trott doesn’t mind the sun, despite his tendency to stick to the shadows, but he’s not shore how he feels about how the realtor always ‘shows’ the house.

He hops off the counter and pads out of the kitchen, his feet are silent against the cracked tile. When he steps into the hall the wooden floorboards creak slightly and the realtor looks towards where he stands, she narrows her eyes as she finishes fluffing a cushion. She walks through the hall, fixing picture frames as she goes.

A knock at the door gives her pause and she calmly glances around to make sure everything is in order. With a curt nod, she turns towards Trott (and the entrance) and rushes to the door to answer it, walking straight through him in the process; he makes an irritated noise that goes unnoticed, and moves to lean against the wall (which he had achieved after many hours of falling, unpleasantly, through objects). The realtor smiles as she pulls open the door, greeting the two men waiting patiently outside. 

While Trott was alive he had never considered himself short, but the two men – two buyers- make him feel small. He crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, he doesn’t like it. They follow the realtor into the foyer where they introduce themselves for, what Trott assumes, is the second time.

The shorter of the pair looks around the room, running a hand through his gelled hair as he takes in the peeling paint and uneven floor. As he takes in the foyer, his eyes move to where the brunette is leaning and pause momentarily, as if he’d seen him. Trott blinks, pushing himself away from the wall, while the other man quickly turned to join in the conversation with his companion. Trott stared at his back, there was no way he had seen him, no one had seen him in the decades he’d been dead.

Curiosity compelled Trott to follow them on their tour, trailing a step or two behind the trio. Occasionally he would try to catch the dark haired mans, or his red haired companions, attention, but neither of them spared him a glance. A growing suspicion made him slightly less careful; wood groaned under his feet; he nudged several frames, they tilted precariously on their hooks; once he knocked into a door, it swayed gently, the hinges creaking; only the realtor seemed to notice.

When she finally sat down with them in the dining room to talk prices, Trott followed, hopping back up onto the island, ensuring he had a clear view of the trio. He lounged on the worn counter top, watching, with little interest, as they talked back and forth. He played several situations out in his head, ones where they got nervous and left, ones where he freaked them the fuck out and they ran, and one where he tricked them into acknowledging his existence (which was ridiculous because they definitely couldn’t see him). It was all quite boring, but company was company, and it was nice to not be alone. 

About an hour later the pair rose from their chairs, reaching across the table to shake the realtor’s hand. She was grinning too, which was a unique occurrence in itself. 

“We will definitely get in touch if we have any questions,” the red haired man pulled on his jacket and handed another one to his companion, he smiled sweetly at the woman as he zipped up his coat. 

“Great!” she looks a little bit too eager, “are you considering making an offer?” hope is a little too evident in her features. Trott is almost offended she is so eager to get rid of him, though of course, they had never spoken and, hell, she didn’t even know he exists, but it still struck a chord. 

“I think we might be,” they all walk to the door, “we actually have a question for you now, if that’s okay?”

“Shoot!” 

They stop in the foyer and the shorter man pulls on a beanie, “We were just curious, because we’d heard rumors, that this place was haunted?” the question was phrased innocently, but Trott’s and the realtors hackles has risen.

“Yes, those tall tales started decades ago. Most of the stories are pretty dramatic but what really started it was a young man who took his own life in the backyard in the early 80’s,” the realtor pauses to check that the two men aren’t repulsed by her bold admission, Trott rubs at the bruising forever present around his neck.

“Since than people have claimed sightings and the story was forgotten and new ones were made. I hope you don’t think I’m being gruesome for telling you up front, but the stories you hear will be far worse and you needed to know the truth. After almost nine years of practically managing this place, I can assure you that there are no ghosts walking through these halls,” she smiles, a joking lilt to her words.

Trott scoffs, his clumsiness had always gone undocumented by the woman, even when he knocked pictures off of the walls or sent her paper flying.

This time it’s the red haired man who glances over at him, a slight tilt to his lips, “it’s nice for you to reassure us, and it’s a weight off of both our shoulders to know the truth,” he raps a long arm around his companions shoulder and they both smiles.

Trott narrows his eyes, he’s not stupid, there’s no way they could both just glance at him. The two men exit through the open door with a final goodbye, the woman moves to stand in the doorway to watch them leave, Trott steps up behind her and stares at them as they walk down the path. The realtor closes the door happily but Trott stands just outside, his feet planted firmly on the door mat, he stares at their backs, daring them to turn around. 

The taller man pulls open the garden gate for the dark haired man and they both turn to face the door, they stare directly at him and the red head raises a hand in acknowledgement. Trott goes stiff and quickly steps back into the house. After years of no one ever seeing him having someone acknowledge his presence feels weirdly wonderful, he was sure if his heart still worked it would be beating crazily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smith and Ross both grew up in household with spiritual parents. Smith's dad had always been able to see limited specters, though he never talked about it, and Smith soon developed his dads powers, just a little stronger.  
> Ross' mom and dad were both had the 'gift of the sight' as they proclaimed it, Ross developed it and was quickly celebrated by his parents.  
> Smith and Ross met at a convention of sorts where they quickly picked out all the bullshitters. They were inexplicably drawn to each other and it didn't take them long to realize the other had the sight too.
> 
> Trott took his own life in the early eighties after living in the house for ten years with his older brother. When his brother passed away he could no longer support the house or his prescription bills. A long sufferer of child abuse meant he was already fucked up before he started losing his mind in the house. The week before they were going to take it away from him he hung himself in the backyard, he thought that at least he would be able to see his brother again; he never did. Ever since then he wandered through the house lost, never trying to scare people away but his presence made everyone anxious anyway and people would leave on their own.


	2. Domestic Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very low key witches, making cookies and making out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this three times which is why it's a bit late, but I hope you enjoy. Some backstory at the end!

A potion bubbled in the thick metal cauldron, green smoke rising from the boiling liquid. Across the wall were shelves filled with ingredients, from spiders legs to bird’s wings, placed in a disorganized pattern, in cheap bottles. A witch stood in the corner, an old woman with sagging skin and hollow eyes, her robes were black and hung loosely from her frame.

Trott stared at the whole display with indignation, it was gruesome the way they portrayed witches. He would never wear poorly sewn robes like that, or leave his ingredients in such disarray. Not to mention how the bottles were corked, not wax sealed, so the contents would be spoiled within a couple weeks. He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed; he hated stores like this. The smoke coming from the cauldron stank and was starting to make him feel light headed.

Across the aisle an animatronic ghost howled ominously and Trott rolled his eyes, picking up his basket from the ground and making his way out of the Halloween section. In the next aisle over Smith and Ross were debating over what type of candy to get, two other boxes already chosen sitting by their feet.

Trott raised an eyebrow at them, “You know this isn’t supposed to be for you right? You don’t have to pick your preferences,” he set down his basket to shift the two boxes into it, frowning at how large they were.

“True, but there’s always leftovers, and we have to like the leftovers,” Ross looked over at him, a bag of Hershey’s chocolate dangling from one hand.

“Yah, remember that one year when all we had left was taffy?” Smith made a disgusted face thrusting a bag of Jolly Ranchers into the basket.

Trott shook his head and picked up the basket, guarding it so that Ross couldn’t shove more candy into it, “You say that, but both of you still ate it!” he jabbed a finger into Smith’s chest, hard enough to make the taller man wince. 

Ross hummed, holding back a laugh as Smith rubbed his chest, “He’s not wrong mate, we gorged ourselves at like two in the morning.” He points out fairly, following behind Trott.

Smith huffed in irritation, “fair enough, but we were also absolutely hammered, and there was nothing else to eat,” he dodges a poorly aimed swipe from Ross, “I was picking it out of my teeth for at least a week!”

A pair of kids ran past, gesticulating wildly with foam swords and nearly smacking Trott in the face. He rolled his eyes and glanced back at Smith, “You need to brush your teeth more often, mate.” Ross laughed and Smith paused momentarily disgruntled by his companion’s words. 

They made their way to the register, Smith and Ross debating over what the best Halloween candy was while Trott paid.

Ross stood beside the counter lining up cookies on a baking sheet that Smith (who was currently licking a spoon he’d dipped in the dough) had helped him shape into pumpkins and ghosts. The ones made by Smith were relatively easy to spot, the edges much less defined, the images distorted, while Ross’ were, as always, ridiculously precise. 

While Ross started on another sheet he floated the cookies into the oven, carefully closing the door with his foot and getting Smith to set a timer. They could hear Trott in the other room, carefully hiding the candy where the two wouldn’t find it- they tried every year but Trott was too good.

Smith hummed as he licked his spoon, “Why does he have to hide it every year? Does he really not trust us that much?” He lounged back in his chair as he gave the spoon one last lick, and shifted to eye the bowl Ross was scooping dough from.

“It’s not like he doesn’t have good reason,” Ross nudged the bowl towards Smith after taking one more spoonful from it, “Do you remember that year we jinxed some of it? We would give it to the really annoying kids? He was so mad.”

Smith chuckled as he ran a finger along the edge of the bowl, “That was so worth it though, that asshole Jimmy really deserved what he got,” he stuck his finger into his mouth and sucked off the dough, moaning at the sweetness and staring at Ross from under his lashes.

Ross glanced at Smith briefly before clearing his throat and looking away, a red flush spreading up his neck and to his cheeks, “Yah that thirteen year old really deserved having his teeth stained black for two weeks. Why did you have to do two weeks, mate? It was a little excessive.”

Across from him Smith shifted in his chair, taking another generous sweep with his finger around the bowl, “The kid’s a jerk, besides it was pretty funny, you have to admit,” He gave Ross a pointed.

Ross just shook his head and placed the last couple cookies on the sheet, floating it to rest on the stove top until the other batch was done. Smith kept licking cookie dough from his finger, staring so intensely at Ross that whenever he looked up his cheeks would turn an even darker shade of red. At one point Smith even placed the tip of his finger on Ross’ bottom lip and made him lick it off, they didn’t break eye contact once.

When Smith stood he grabbed Ross’ hand and moved to lie on the couch, Ross placing his knees on either side of Smith’s hips and leaning at the waist to kiss the taller man. Their lips moved in sync, Ross opening his mouth to allow their tongues to slide together. Smith shifted so that he could place sloppy open mouth kisses down his companion’s throat and Ross bit his lip to hold back a moan when his teeth grazed his windpipe.

Ross shut his eyes and groaned into Smith’s hairs, running his left hand up smith’s side and under his shirt, his fingers brushing the other mans midriff. Smith sucked a mark onto the dark haired man’s collarbone, delighting in the sounds that fell from his lover’s mouth. He moved so that he could kiss Ross on the lips again, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and sucking on it.

In the kitchen the timer starts to beep signaling that the cookies were done, Ross began to pull away but Smith latched onto his hips and groaned unhappily. “Smith,” Ross struggled to pull away, “I have to get the cookies out.”

“We have magic for a reason Ross,” Smith huffed, stubbornly holding onto his companion, “Use it to get the cookies out. You’re not allowed to leave, you’ll get distracted!” 

Ross pulled away, stumbling from the couch and bumping into the coffee table, Smith groaned loudly, lying half on the couch and half on the floor. Ross shook his head and fixed his shirt, “Get Trott to come play with you,” he made his way to the kitchen, “he’s probably done hiding the candy, and he’s one randy bastard.”

While Ross pulled out the cookies, turning his back and floating the other tray of cookies into the oven rack, Smith called for Trott loudly. His voice was muffled by the cushion pressed against his face so he shifted so only his cheek was resting on the pillow.

“Trooooott,” he stretched out his friends name, “Trott come into the living room.”

A head of floppy brown hair appeared in the kitchens doorway, Trott made eye contact with Ross, arching an eyebrow. Ross just nodded his head to where Smith was lounging and set the cookies on the cooling rack, resetting the timer for the second batch.

Trott walked over to the Ross and gave him a bright smile, placing a kiss quickly on his friend’s lips, before making his way into the living room, “What’s up, sunshine?”

Before Trott could prepare himself, Smith lunged up from the couch, wrapping his arms tightly around the shorter man’s waist and pulling them both to the floor. Trott yelped as they fell, flicking his wrist and sending the coffee table clattering against the wall so they wouldn’t fall on it. Smith kept his grip firm and rolled so he could pin Trott against the floor, the brunettes complaints lost in a fit of laughter as Smith began tickling him, his fingers dancing nimbly across his ribs. Ross laughed listening to Trott complain whenever he caught his breath, but to no avail as Smith kept relentlessly ‘attacking’ him.

The cookies had cooked well and Ross used a spatula to dislodge one from the cookie sheet, taking a small bite after a brief moment of letting it cool. He settled back against the counter and closed his eyes, the cookie hit the spot and he could hear his two best friends – lovers- laughing in the other room, a cool breeze wafting through an open window chilled his prickling skin; he decided that, maybe, Halloween wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved the idea of a witch (or any halloween creature, really) reacting to a stereotypical display of themselves.
> 
> I think in this world witches hide their powers, but can tell if another person has magical powers or is supernatural. I'm saying that their are probably other supernatural creatures in this universe as well.
> 
> They obviously don't have wands and can do simple magic without much concentration, but more complex spells can need intense focus and potentially other assistants (like herbs or stones).


	3. Speculations of the Undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure where I was planning to go with this, but it wasn't where it ended up.  
> Oh well, hope you enjoy.

Cups of blood red punch were being passed form hand to hand, ice cubes shaped like severed appendages bobbing to the surface. College kids giggled and hiccupped when they sipped from their glasses, bumping shoulders as the alcohol made them dizzy. The house was packed, a crowd gathering in the center of the living room, undulating to music that blared so loudly it shook the walls.

Smith grasped his paper cup close to his chest as he weaved through the crowd, people he had never seen before greeting him loudly like old friends. It was hot enough to make his makeup drip and he had to keep reminding himself not to wipe any of it off.

As he weaved around people, Smith took in the whole party; girls in skimpy costumes dancing provocatively in small groups; guys with their faces covered pushing other people around, thinking themselves free of consequences; couples making out in corners or in front of everyone on the ‘dance floor’; twenty year olds grinded like teenagers against any free object. Smith shook his head and scoffed, the whole affair smelt like sex and vodka.

When he finally broke through the last rings of the crowd, pushing his way between two girls making out against the doorframe leading to the deck, he took a deep breath of fresh air. A breeze cooled his hot skin, helping dry the layers of paint on his face. The paint had gotten pretty badly smudged and he was sure there were spots where it was gone completely, leaving skin-coloured blotches underneath the white makeup and fake blood. 

Stars shined dully in the sky, washed out slightly by their proximity to the city. Smith could see two shapes leaning against the fence on the other side of the yard, puffs of smoke drifting up between them. He took a long drink from his cup and set it down on a piece of lawn furniture haphazardly, it clattered emptily against the wooden platform as he walked away.

The two figures turned to face him as he approached, the older, and taller one, took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke in Smith’s direction and grinning. The other man grinned alongside his companion, but Smith noted that he wasn’t smoking, just drinking from a red plastic cup. For a split moment Smith thought he’d seen their eyes glowing slightly, but he blinked and they were normal again.

“Smiffy!” the older man, Sips as he went by, proclaimed, pushing away from the fence and setting a heavy hand on his shoulder, “Been a while, didn’t know you were into these shit shows,” the grin on his face grew and Smith was inexplicably drawn to him.

The other man, Trott, eyed him intently from the side, it made Smith shift nervously from foot to foot, “Not normally, but, hell, it’s Halloween, might as well get out,” Sips nodded enthusiastically and pulled him closer to him and his companion, Smith didn’t seem to notice.

Trott arched an eyebrow at the red haired man, “I’m getting a zombie vibe from the get up,” he slouched against the fence, unblinking.

“Yah, only thing I could muster up on such short notice,” he glanced at the shorter man’s outfit, leather jacket and ripped jeans, then looked at Sips’, a cargo jacket with similar pants but no rips, “didn’t decide to get dressed up?”

“Nah, Halloween’s not,” Trott waved his hand airily, “our thing.”  
Sips hummed, his grip tightening on Smith’s shoulder as he took another drag before putting the butt out on a stone garden wall, “Wanna join us for a walk Smiffy?” he stepped towards the ominous darkness of the forest, “Lots of privacy in the woods.”

Smith’s mouth had gone dry, he couldn’t seem to look away from Sips Cheshire cat grin, he thought that the alcohol must have been making his brain fuzzy. When Trott laughed, the sound ringing in the heavy silence, Smith jumped, eyes flicking to the brunette who was already walking backwards into the forest.

“Come on Smith,” Trott’s voice was low and gravelly, “We know you’ve wanted to spend some time alone with us, now’s your chance.” He watched as the other man disappeared between the trees, not realizing Sips was pulling him alongside him.

In a brief moment Sips’ warmth was absent from his side and Smith was alone standing on the edge of the forest, a yearning compelling him to step forward. He didn’t think as he crossed into the forest, just searched for the companionship he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking that Sips and Trott are long time Ghouls or something like that. Paired up when they met after they discovered how easy it was to lure people away with twice the power.  
> Smith is just another victim, but by luck of the time and position of the moon, comes back as a ghoul, deciding to use his practical immortality to terrorize the two that took his life.


	4. Silver Bullets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Hornby and Agent Smith investigate a peculiar death in the middle of a city's industrial area.

The woman stumbled forward, her clothes hung from her body in ruin and sweat coated her paled skin. There was no one on the industrial side of town at three am so she was alone, fear coiling in her stomach like a snake as she limped towards the highway. It was right there, only a hundred meters away, the flickering glow of the street lamps lighting the onramp. Maybe a car would come by at the right time and see her, she had to hope.

Her footsteps were the only noise alongside her heavy breathing, and when she looked behind her the yard was still, warehouses looming ominously around the open, and empty, space. Relief flooded through her and she slowed, cradling her injured arm to her chest. It was gone, she had lost it, somehow. 

She made her way slowly to the side of a warehouse, leaning gratefully against the corner. She would rest for a moment and then try and get a ride with a late-night driver. Old truckers who got a little handy were surely better than the eerie silence, and whatever was hiding in the dark alleys.

When she took a step forward, a deep growl reverberated from the gap between the two warehouses. She stared at the dark space, her heart beating out of control and her fear rendering her motionless. A pair of glowing amber eyes appeared, they moved closer but the woman was still unable to move. She was a deer caught in headlights, she was afraid but she couldn’t put a name to her fear, it was all consuming and she knew she was going to die.

The beast took a step out of the shadows, shaking its head of thick brown fur, its unnervingly intelligent eyes fixed on her throat. She stepped back and it stepped forward - She could see it was too large to be a feral dog or even a wolf. It lunged, she screamed until she couldn’t.

Quiet had fallen once again, interrupted only by the thump and pull of a heavy object across concrete. 

 

Yellow tape fluttered in the wind, storms clouds hanging heavily in the sky, occasionally a raindrop would fall. Tents had already been set up to protect the scene, people gathered in groups under umbrellas and talked in hushed voices. A man with a camera crouched and took a photo with a professional camera, pausing to scan through what he had gotten. Under the largest tent police officers in uniform examined files and photos.

On the other side of the lot, two men got out of a sleek black car, fixing their suits and conversing as they walked toward the crime scene. The taller one, leaned in to whisper to his partner, too quiet to be heard by anyone nearby. The shorter man observed the scene, carefully fixing his styled hair and doing up an extra button on his jacket. 

As the two newcomers approached the taped area, one of the officers broke away from the group, ducking under the tape and meeting them on the border. He held up a hand, halting the other men’s progression, “I’m sorry sirs but I can’t let you go any further, this is an official investigation.”

“Who’s your superior? We have orders to speak to the leading officer of this investigation,” The taller man stepped forward, barely sparing a glance at the young cop as his partner talked. He scanned the area for anyone who looked like the lead. His eyes landed on a man in a leather jacket talking to an older man in baggy jeans, he squinted at him, not quite able to make out his features; he looked familiar. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a new officer, he approached them slowly and dismissed the younger man, “How can I help you boys?”

“Agent Alex Smith,” he fished out his badge and flipped it open, “and this is my partner, Agent Ross Hornby,” he too displayed his badge, giving a curt nod to the older man.

The officer squinted at the badges, looking between their faces and the photos. He rocked back on his heels, seemingly satisfied, “senior officer Thomas Gibson, I’m the lead on this case,” he didn’t try to shake their hands. “Why’d the agency send you boys down here? Just looks like a wild animal attack, nothing more. Should be animal control on this not the cops or the feds.”

“We’re part of a special operation, our branch deals with… certain situations,” Hornby explained, fitting his badge back inside his suit jacket, Smith following his suit. “We’ve heard that there have been several cases similar to this one around the area.”

Gibson rubbed a hand over his face, scratching at the dark stubble on his chin, “This is only the second death really connected to the case,” he ducked under the yellow tape, the other two men following close behind. “There have been several calls of a large animal roaming streets at night, mostly on the highway. About four people have been attacked, sustaining serious but not fatal injuries. Several farmers from the nearby farms have reported mutilated cattle, sheep, and a couple chickens.”

Smith nodded along and Hornby took notes, planning to compare them to other similar files and witness reports. A group of officers parted for them to pass through and they stopped in front of a table where multiple pictures were laid out. Pictures of the body were gruesome, a dark stain of blood still visible on the pavement several meters away.

“Coroner has identified the body, says it’s a Sophie Clayton,” he held up a file and Smith took it, browsing through the contents and comparing the photo of her to the body on the table; practically unrecognizable. “Twenty-eight years old, lived in the city, small group of friends, no romantic relationships, estranged from her family, unemployed. No one could tell us how she would have ended up here late last night.”

Across the way Smith can see the man in the leather jacket place a hand on the other man’s arm, he looks up and for a brief moment there eyes meet. A shudder travels up Smith’s spine, the man’s gaze unnerving him, his eyes a peculiar shade of amber. Smith nudged his partners shoulder as Gibson droned on, Hornby looked over to where Smith was staring but the other man had moved away. Something about the stranger rubbed Smith the wrong way and he just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Gibson paused halfway through a sentence, catching smith’s attention once again. When he turned back to the cop, he nearly stepped back in surprise, the man in the leather jacket was standing beside the older officer.

“Agents, I’d like you to meet Doctor Chris Trott,” Trott shook each of their hands in turn, not breaking eye contact with either of them, “He occasionally works field for my division, he also assists the coroner. He was working alongside her earlier this morning on the victim’s body.”

“Hard to tell anything, the body really was a mess. Took us almost two extra hours to identify the victim,” he pushed back a length of his hair, his fringe messily obscuring his vision.

“The Doctor was also one of the first on the scene, dealt with a couple of workers who found the body. I’ve gone over all the details with him, but I’m sure he’d be open to any questions you boys had for him,” Gibson patted Trott’s back and the shorter man nodded his agreement.

A sharp gust of wind made the yellow tape around them flutter and left the Doctor’s hair askew. Gibson patted Trott on the back again and gave another curt nod to the agents before walking off to talk to several other officers. 

Trott smiled at them, in a way that made Hornby’s skin crawl, it almost looked like he was bearing his teeth. He cleared his throat to shake off his nerves. Smith looked perfectly collected, but, having been his partner for nearly seven years, Hornby could tell he was just s unnerved, if not slightly suspicious. 

“Do you have any questions you boys would like to ask me?” he shifted forward slightly, hardly blinking and alternating between eye contact with the two of them. “If you’d like to come see the body you could follow me in my car. I can walk you through everything.”

“Sounds like a good idea, we’ll let you lead the way than” Smith reached out and gripped his partners arm, pulling him towards their car on the other side of the lot. 

They exchanged a look as they walked away, Hornby subtly running his hand over his hip to ensure his gun was still holstered. There was a round of silver bullets already loaded in the chamber, as he was sure there were in Smith’s gun as well; best to be prepared at all times. Besides, it looked like they would need them soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The agency Smith and Ross belong to is a registered branch of the federal government. The branch deals with supernatural occurrences. Smith and Ross are two of the best agents.


	5. Protect Thy City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott is a guardian of the city, he protects it from the shadows that hide in the night. 
> 
> Smith and Ross are the shadows he has to challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still the beginning of October right?

Darkness moved over the land, shadows shifting in alleys and dancing through the streets. Doors had been bolted shut and windows sealed fast; most city people didn’t really understand, but knew enough to not leave their homes during the night. Those not fast enough in completing errands or who had forgotten, darted down backstreets, hiding as best they could from the things they couldn’t see.

If they pressed their ear to the door, or peaked out from behind their curtains, sometimes they could hear the joyous rampage or see flames flickering in the night. Once in a while a foolish person would sneak out of their home to try and catch a glimpse, by morning they would be missing.

That year was no different; darkness moved quickly when the sun set, gnarled shadows rustling leaves and scattering early Halloween decorations. People slammed their doors shut, coaxing children and pets alike back into the house. Fear rested like a heavy blanket, the whole city holding its breath.

When the last street light flickered on, a cacophony could be heard, slowly rising in volume. Shapes stepped out of the shadows, clawing their way from the earth. Human-like to indistinguishable figures gathered in the streets, dancing in the flicker of street lamps. 

Across town a human man ran down an alley fumbling with a plastic bag. He could hear them all around him, laughing joyously at the fear rising in his stomach. Only a couple more blocks; a couple more blocks and he would be at his apartment building, safe from the demons running free.

Out of the darkness rose a shadow, growing in size, horns sprouting from its bulbous head and eyes shining like oil against reddening skin. The human stumbled back, tripping on a discarded can and landing on his backside. He was so scared he couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream, just cower against the wall and shake.

Just as the demon began to physically form, a sharp streak of light cut through it, eliciting a terrible shriek from its quickly shriveling shadow. When the man opened his eyes the shadow was gone and the alley was empty; he was too shocked to be relieved, his limbs still stiff at his sides.

“Get up,” a curt voice demanded from behind him causing him to freeze again, a sob breaking past his lips. “Now is not the time for blubbering, I said get up,” the man rose against his own accord.

The person – thing – behind him had sickly pale, almost grey, skin with dark patches of red. There were two curved, red horns protruding from his silver hair. The human quaked violently at his feet.

“Are you going to kill me?” he managed to choke out, his own legs barely holding him upright. He could barely tear his eyes away from the sharply barbed tail, swaying just visibly behind the figure. The creature merely rolled its eyes - a very human gesture.

“No, I’m here to help you. My name is Trottimus, I am a gargoyle, sent as a guardian to protect your city.” Trott stared around the alley and beckoned for the man to follow him, “It’s not safe here. I will help you return to your home.”

The man, Shane, as he had told Trott between sobs, stuck close to the creature’s side as they made their way. Occasionally the gargoyle would place a hand on Shane’s shoulder, halting their progress to let groups of shadows run by, who were oblivious to the pair. Silence was heavy between them, the human still trying to control his breathing and Trott calculating every step they took.

When they came out of another alley Shane paused and gestured to a building at the end of the block, “that’s where my apartment is.”

Trott scanned the street, his long, red speckled tale flicking against the ground as he thought. He dropped into a crouch, pressing a taloned hand against the concrete and closing his eyes. Shane watched him intently, anxiety building in his chest as the minutes stretched; he kept glancing down the street.

Shadows flitted between the buildings across from them briefly and then the night was still. The rapturous noises of celebration seemed distant. But when Shane looked down, the gargoyle was unmoving, a look of intense concentration carved into his features - he was so still, for a brief moment the human feared he had morphed back into the statue he must have come from.

Another minute passed and he observed no further movement or ambiguous shadows along the street, and Trott was still frustratingly rock-like. He decided he need to move, his desire for home too great to ignore. So Shane stepped out of the alley, still grasping his plastic bag, and jogged along the sidewalk, clinging to the side of the buildings he ran past.

Merely one hundred metres away, he stumbled on a loose chunk of concrete, tripping sprawling on the sidewalk. The contents of his bag spilled into the street, cans and jars clattering against the ground.

He scrambled onto his knees and reached for a rolling jar, but before he could grab it a thick soled boot kicked it out of the way. It skittered loudly down the street, hitting a curb and smashing to pieces.

Shane hadn’t thought Trott would be so angry about his recklessness. He looked up, an apology halfway past his lips and froze. Standing above him wasn’t the gargoyle, but a taller, broader man with auburn hair and eyes the colour of steel. The stranger grinned widely, displaying a row of shining sharp teeth and a forked black tongue.

A scream caught in the human’s throat and he pushed himself backwards, his back hitting a second pair of jean clad legs. Attached to them was a demon almost as tall as the other, his spiked black hair and blue eyes stark against his practically white skin. He reached for him with fingers like claws, grasping his shoulder roughly and pulling him to his feet.

“Haven’t you heard it’s not safe for humans to walk the streets tonight?” chuckled the black haired demon, his grip tight enough to draw blood. He pushed him forcefully into his companion. Shane struggled, glancing frantically to the alley he had waited with Trott in, but he either wasn’t visible or had abandoned him to his fate.

“Should we escort him home Ross? Fulfill our duties as friendly demons?” the auburn haired one leaned closer to Shane’s face, his tongue flicking like a snakes. “Or should we have a little fun?” he purred, “Let off some steam?” a shudder ran through Shane’s whole body.

“No harm in some fun, mate.” Ross grabbed him by the neck and threw him against the hard concrete, his head knocking against the sidewalk.

They towered over him, Shane just noticing the glint of a curved knife in the taller demons hand. Once again fear made him unable to do anything but cower at their feet. As they stepped forward a shadow appeared at their backs, smaller than their own.

“Using knives now Alexander? Scared a human could beat you hand-to-hand?” Trott’s voice caught both demon’s attention and they turned to face him. Recognition lit both their features, followed quickly by matching malicious smiles.

“Not intended for the humans Trotty.” Alex lunged at him, knife streaking in a sharp arc, but Trott was too fast, dodging out of the way and kicking the demon hard enough to send him sprawling. He turned to face the other demon, knees bent in a slight crouch.

Ross unsheathed a similar knife, holding it by his side and mimicking Trott’s stance, “Always good to see you Trottimus.”

“Likewise,” Trott hummed, shifting his position so he could keep tabs on both demons. Alex was just getting up, pulling the knife from the gutter and lumbering forward.

Shane, thinking himself forgotten in the squabble, started moving towards his apartment. But the auburn haired demon caught sight of him, and with a quick flick of his fingers he rendered him motionless, “You can wait there for us,” he hissed and turned back to his companion. 

Trott and Ross were still squared off, neither making a move, just watching. Alex stepped up beside Ross, his grip tight on the knife. The two demons exchanged a glance before moving in unison, Alex coming at Trott from his left and Ross from his right.

Trott dropped to his haunches, spinning out of Alex’s path and parrying his jab with his tail. Ross changed his angle as the gargoyle shifted, swinging his knife in a sharp arc. Trott, caught partially unaware, did his best to dodge out of the way, his tail knocking the knife out of the demons head, but not before it made contact with his skin.

An aching burn made Trott stumble back, his hand going to where the knife had nicked his shoulder. When he pulled his hand back, there was a thick silver liquid coating his fingers. He wiped the liquid across his pants, fighting back a growing anxiety as he watched the knives glimmer in the streetlights.

“Do you like our little toys?” Smith’s face split apart in a wicked smile, the sharp points of his teeth glinting like his blade. “You aren’t as invulnerable as you think,” he ran a finger along the edge of the knife, bringing it to his lips and licking off the gargoyles blood, “It certainly packs a nasty bite.”

The three beings circled each other slowly, Trott deflecting or dodging every half-assed swipe. Once or Twice he was able to make contact, his tail slicing their skin deep enough to draw blood.

“You still have a chance to join us,” mused the dark haired demon, “We would welcome you. It is much more enjoyable wreaking havoc to the city than it is picking the pieces up afterwards.”

Trott scoffed, “Enjoyment is not why I exist,” he flicked his tail menacingly towards the demons. “My existence has a higher purpose. There is little to reap from such shallow pleasures.”

Alex shook his head, “You are one of the last guardians of this city, and soon enough you will be the last or you will be gone too. Do not be a fool Trottimus, I hate to watch a powerful creature perish out of shear stubbornness.”

Clouds shifted ominously in the sky, slowly hiding the stars and the moon from sight. A wind was building in the city, stirring Trott’s fringe and ruffling Shane’s loose curls. Leaves swirled around them and something in Trott’s eyes flashed a deeper colour. Shane watched in terrible fascination as the three creatures squared off, he could practically see power beginning to radiate from the gargoyles form.

“It’s funny, that you have this perception that you could erase my people from existence,” mused Trott, “That you could somehow, ever, be powerful enough to destroy me,” he emphasized his statement with a flick of his wrist that sent the two demons stumbling back. 

Alex regained his footing first, taking a step forward, his face twisted in a snarl. As his anger grew his eyes flickered to black. “We have killed your kind before,” spat the demon, “We have crushed your power like it was nothing, we have swayed you to our side because we are the true power of this world.” His eyes flickered briefly to Ross, just now coming forward, a satisfied gaze taking in his blunted horns and marble-like skin. 

Trott scoffed, “You corrupted and overcame the weak,” Ross tried to hide a flinch at the venom in the gargoyles words. “What you have left, are the strongest. Even if you could kill me, you would face my brothers, who would tear you limb from limb.”

Alex and Ross stepped forward together, their lips pulled back so that their sharp teeth were in perfect view. “We will delight in your demise,” the dark haired demon snarled, “And when you are gone we will bathe in the blood of the humans you so devotedly protect. Starting with your dear friend,” he glanced over at where Shane was lying motionless.

With little warning, Alex lunged forward, driving Trott back with vicious swings that he could barely parry. While Alex distracted the gargoyle, Ross circled them until he was at Trott’s back.

A gust of wind made Alex falter, allowing Trott to send him stumbling back with a swift kick. He tripped on a stray can and fell back with Trott still advancing on him.

The demon rolled out of the way when the gargoyle jabbed at him with his tail, “Now, Ross,” he bellowed from the ground. ”Do it now!”

Trott blinked at him and then spun around, coming face to face with the other demon. But before he could act Ross thrusted his arm forward. The knife slid into his abdomen with ease, cutting his skin like it was human. He stumbled back as Ross pulled the blade out, he could see his blood dripping from the hilt and down the demon’s hand. 

Ross looked almost as bewildered as Trott, stunned by the warmth of the liquid that was staining the sleeve of his jacket.

Fear stirred in the pit of the gargoyles stomach, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. He pressed a hand to the wound, applying pressure in hopes the bleeding might slow. Behind him he could hear Alex clambering to his feet, cold imagine the satisfaction on his face. They would not be triumphant.

Trott staggered towards Ross, and before he could react he struck him in the side of the leg with his tail. Streaking forward he hit him in the stomach with an open fist, his talons cutting into the soft flesh. Trott’s eyes glowed with divine power as he sent the demon stumbling back towards his companion. 

“It’s over,” Alex shouted. But the wind had picked up and he could barely hear himself. His auburn curls whipped against his forehead and he put up a hand to shield his face from the debris being lifted into the air. 

In front of them Trott spread his arms wide and bowed his head, the flaps of his jacket hardly fluttering despite the worsening conditions. Alex didn’t have a chance to warn Ross before both demons collapsed to their knees, a terrible power driving them from their vessels and back into the shadows. The empty bodies collapsed forwards. Down the sidewalk Shane felt life flood back into his limbs.

Gradually the wind quieted, until once again, the night was still. Shane rose to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. He could see the two lifeless vessels, a slight burn around their figures in the concrete. As he watched the bodies slowly disintegrated, until there was nothing left but the scorch marks and a fine layer of ash in their place.

Trott was standing several metres away, slouched over with a hand pressed to his abdomen. Shane slowly approached him; he could see smear of grime on his face, his skin was grayer than when he had first seen him, and one of his horns had been broken at the tip, just a jagged stump left. He swayed dangerously on his feet, as if he might collapse at any moment, he didn’t even seem to notice the human’s approach.

“Trottimus?” Shane questioned, timidly stepping closer. He reached out a careful hand, just hoping to get his attention, But as soon as he was about to touch him, Trott seemed to become aware, whipping around and nearly impaling Shane with his tail. 

The gargoyle blinked, “Oh,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry.” He stumbled forward and Shane barely caught him. 

Shane helped support Trott’s weight, his own legs still tingling with leftover magic. They made their way to his apartment building, taking almost twenty minutes to move the single block. Trott kept stumbling, gradually leaning on Shane more and more as they moved. When they finally got to the entrance Shane was almost carrying the gargoyle, his arms heavy from the weight.

The building was old – meaning no elevator – and Shane lived on the third floor. The stairs creaked and moaned under their feet, their slow progress pushing the limits of the decrepit stairway. By the time they reached the top Shane was sweating and Trott could hardly stand without collapsing. 

It took Shane a moment to unlock the door (the locks were as old as the building). He eventually turned it past the rust and pushed his way into the front hall. Trott followed behind him, one hand trailing along the wall as he concentrated on keeping himself upright. A clock on the wall ticked quietly, drawing Trott’s attention, he squinted trying to read the time; 12:37 A.M.

Shane turned around to tell something to the gargoyle but as he opened his mouth Trott collapsed forward. He hit the ground before Shane could catch him, his eyes drifting shut as a darkness overtook his conscious. 

 

When Trott woke it was still dark outside. Stars shone dimly past the clouds, framing the moon against the gradually lightening sky. Outside the living room window a streetlight cast a pale circle of light against the street, shadows shifting at the immediate circumference. The whole street was darker than it should have been at that hour of night.

Trott watched from the window as the shadows moved along the edge of the building, they could sense his presence but could not break through the protection instilled on the building. The gargoyle could feel the ancient wards fluctuate and shudder at his fingertips, but they never weakened. He heard Shane shift behind him and turned to face him.

Shane had changed out of his dirty clothes and washed the grime from his skin. “How are you doing?”

“The wound is sealed, I am merely suffering a loss in power. The knife must have stolen some of my life energy, it is what connects me to your world.” He wiggled his fingers, staring at the movement intently. “At first I felt disconnected, but my senses are gradually coming back. I can once again see the magic and the energy shifting naturally through the objects.”

Shane nodded like he understood what Trott was saying, “That’s great.”

“Yes, I should be back to normal soon. There are small gaps in my perception but they will hopefully bind back to their original state as well,” he continued to muse, pacing around the living room. While Trott mumbled about the process of mending himself, Shane moved to the window, watching the flickering shadows on the pavement. 

“Can they get in?” the human asked, unable to tear his gaze from the window. Trott looked over at him, studying the stiffness in his posture and the way his hands trembled; he was afraid.

“No,” Trott took a step towards him. “The wards on the buildings are ancient and strong, they have never broken them before and they will not break them tonight.”

Shane nodded and then moved away from the window, the figures outside making him nervous. He walked past Trott and into the small kitchen. Hoping that a cup of tea would help calm his nerves, he set the kettle and pulled out a large mug from. He dropped a small bag of Chamomile into the cup and leaned against the counter.

“What did the demon mean when he said that ‘you would be one of the last guardians in the city’?” Shane looked over to where Trott had perched on the windowsill. “I thought there were lots. When I was a kid they told us stories about hundreds of guardians protecting the city.”

Trott shook his head sadly, “once there were many of us. Hundreds. But a couple decades ago the demons started building power, they began to win fights they never had. They corrupted my people, swaying several to join their side.” Trott cast a look out the window, narrowing his eyes at some unseen memory. 

“Ross was one of the corrupted. We used to work closely together and the streets we protected were heavy with demon presences. He is centuries younger than me, lacked the experience and the knowledge of each demon we fought. One night he went up against Alexander alone, by the time I got there, he had been corrupted.” The gargoyle tapped his fingers idly against the wall as he spoke, a tic of some sort. “Ever since it has been him and Alexander who track me, who try and destroy me or try and corrupt me. I will never waiver in my duties.”

Shane listened with rapt attention, fascinated by the stories he had stopped hearing about after he started getting older. “But what makes them so powerful now? Is it all the guardians on their side?”

“We don’t truly understand it, we suspect a hidden power source or major demon that they summoned.” Trott glanced back at Shane, “But we still stand strong against them. They think they can destroy us but they never will wipe us out. We will always be here to protect the city.” 

Trott stood suddenly, his gaze skipping around the room as he slowly moved to where Shane was standing. He closed his eyes and rested his hand against the well, beckoning for the human to retreat back into the kitchen.

“Hey Trott,” came a smooth voice from behind him. He whirled around only to come face-to-face with a familiar figure. His eyes adjusted as he took in the man in front of him.

“Sips,” he breathed, moving forward and resting a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “It’s been some time.”

The other man grinned at him, “Yes, it has.” His eyes flicked over to where Shane was standing and arched an eyebrow at his old friend.

Trott quickly faced Shane, “This is Sips, he is another guardian. We have known each other for a very long time.”

Sips nodded at Shane, who was still more than a little bit taken aback. As the two men spoke Shane took in the newcomer’s appearance. Compared to Trott, Sips looked deceptively normal; no horns or tail and a plausible skin tone. But whenever Sips glanced his way he couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flickered violet in the dim light.

“It’s time to get back to the battle Trottimus, the city needs our protection,” Sips said gravely and Trott nodded. 

The gargoyle turned to face Shane and bowed deeply, “Thank you, for assisting me. You saved my life, I will do whatever I can to protect yours.” He paused and then straightened, “It was an honour meeting you.”

Shane, struck momentarily speechless, merely watched as Trott stepped back towards Sips. He gave a curt nod and the other guardian reached out and touched his shoulder. Both of them were gone in a blink of an eye, emptiness where they had stood in Shane’s apartment. 

 

Tired and sore, Shane decided he had had enough for the night and began to make his way to his bedroom, forgoing the tea. As he passed through the living room he heard a terrible screech. Heart beating fast he ran to the window and looked out; on the street Trott and Sips were battling the shadows that had been grouped around the wall. 

Watching the two fight together was like a dance, complex and beautiful. He found himself entranced by their dexterity and strength, as they spun and dodged, ducked blows and delivered some of their own. He stayed at the window until the two guardians had banished all the shadows, until they had disappeared down the street, already ready to keep fighting and protecting the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trott and Sips are centuries and centuries old. Once just stone statues, they were brought to life when a dark evil disrupted the sanctity of the city. They have been protecting it ever since with many others like themselves.   
> Ross was never happy with protecting beings that didn't seem worthy, thought helping the city was pointless; it was Smith that just pushed him over the edge.  
> Smith had always been a thorn in Trott's side that he couldn't quite get out. When he got Ross to join him it just got worse.


End file.
